


Majestic Plural

by Udunie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Infidelity, M/M, just a touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7594729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris was furious. Furious enough that all the courtiers kept far away from him, even though generally he was believed to be the approachable side of the royal couple.</p><p>How could Peter do this to them? To him? It was a slap in the face.</p><p>He could feel the mark on his chest itch. It had never done that before, and he wasn’t sure what it meant. As angry as he was, he still worried that it might be the sign of something being irreparably broken between the two of them. </p><p>Peter fucked someone after the feast. Some… some lowlife lord from the borders who was probably only there because Chris was kind enough to extend an invitation to every noble for their wedding anniversary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Majestic Plural

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the second day of Steter Week!
> 
> I had two prompts for this:  
> Anonymous said: Hi I have prompt for steter week but not sure if you will take stetopher? It said poly was cool but totally understand if not! :) Mythical Soul mark/bond, Peter n Chris together then Peter has one night stand with Stiles, too drunk to realise he was their 3rd soul bond, angst until a while later Chris meets Stiles and figures out they are bonded. Big reveal and happy ending make up poly sex? If not cool with poly, maybe a seter soulmate/bond/mark au with werefox/were!creature stiles? Thanks :)
> 
> Plus there was another prompt that asked for prince Peter fucking a lesser noble and causing a scandal. Or something along those, but unfortunately I lost it, because I'm awful ;_;
> 
> As always, many thanks to the lovely Emma who helped me with this! I love you, hon!

Chris was furious. Furious enough that all the courtiers kept far away from him, even though generally he was believed to be the approachable side of the royal couple.

How could Peter do this to them? To him? It was a slap in the face.

He could feel the mark on his chest itch. It had never done that before, and he wasn’t sure what it meant. As angry as he was, he still worried that it might be the sign of something being irreparably broken between the two of them. 

Peter fucked someone after the feast. Some… some lowlife lord from the borders who was probably only there because Chris was kind enough to extend an invitation to every noble for their wedding anniversary.

How stupid he had been. He should have known. He should have known that their mark - the sign from the gods that they were meant to be together - meant nothing to Peter. 

“Your grace…” a page said, stepping in front of him from when he rounded a corner. The kid had balls. 

“What?” 

“The… his majesty the king w-would like to request your presence,” he stuttered out, head bowed. Chris huffed. It was a good thing he wasn’t the kind to shoot the messenger.

“Well then go right back to him and tell his majesty that his request is  _ denied _ ,” he said coolly, before striding on. This was stupid. He knew he shouldn’t be making a scene, it was only making things worse, but… But he couldn’t be expected to just smile and bear it when his soulmate cheated on him.

For a second it seemed like the boy wanted to say something, but then slinked away. Peter could take a bit of denial, because apparently it had been way too long since someone said no to him.

Chris headed to the armoury. He needed to let out a bit of steam before he started to pack. Oh, no, he wasn’t in a position to… to leave Peter permanently, but he could still go on a little roundtrip to the countryside. They had quite a few estates that haven’t been visited in awhile - it might take months to see them all. And it would be popular with the peasants.

At least some good would come out of this mess.

It was hard to say how much the court suspected of what happened yesterday. As far as he knew, he was the only one to actually see Peter… the  _ king _ , like that; disheveled, with his pants around his ankles, making out in a fucking closet of all places with some little lordling. 

But the walls had ears in the castle, and though even he couldn’t get a good look at the sneaky little bastard, he had a feeling that half of the nobility already knew who the king’s flame was.

Soulbonds were supposed to be holy and unbreakable, and for anyone else, cheating on their soulmate would have been a social suicide, but there was little the head of a country couldn’t do. Chris just always hoped this wouldn’t be one the rules Peter decided to break.

The armory - annoyingly enough - wasn’t deserted as he hoped, though he didn’t recognize the young man inside. Chris would have thought him a page, but by his clothes, he must have been a young knight. Sometimes, and maybe especially now, he felt like everyone was getting younger. Were they this young with Peter when they were knighted? He couldn’t remember.

But maybe a little sparing would do him good.

“Care for a bit of morning jostle, sir?” he asked, taking a practice sword off the rack. The weight of it feeling good in his hands.

The knight looked like a deer spotting an arrow coming his way. Honestly, it was understandable, it wasn’t everyday you were faced with an obviously furious king consort.

“I… um. Your grace. I-yes. A-at your service.”

The boy swallowed, taking another blunt-edged practice sword. He wasn’t wearing armor, just a simple shirt, and neither was Chris, but that was okay. They were adults, they could take a few hits without padding.

He led the way to the small courtyard connected to the armoury where the knights usually trained. It was a simple thing, round and bare, the ground flat and hard from generations of soldiers tramping on it.

The boy had a good stance, body lithe but toned. Chris thought he seemed a bit uncertain right now, but that probably had more to do with facing the royal husband, than with sparring in general.

“What’s your name, sir?” he asked, just for good measure.

“Sir Stiles,” the young man said, and oddly enough, saying that seemed to be what steadied his hand. Chris smiled. Good man, he was already fond of him.

He charged without warning to test the waters, but the knight was onto him, stepping to the side and parrying without fail. He kept his eyes on Chris’ chest, instead of his sword, and that alone was enough to let him know that the boy was very well trained.

He tried again, going for a sneakier move, but was repelled just as easily, as he did the next time and the one after.

The young knight wasn’t fighting back, just keeping Chris from landing a hit. It was sort of infuriating. Sparring in this mental state haven’t been the best idea, because Chris was getting mad again.

“Come on, don’t be such a spoil-sport,” he gritted out. He wanted to fight, damn it.

To his surprise, the knight paused for a second before nodding with a determined expression.

“Fair enough,” he said, which made no sense, but the next instant he was the one on offence, leaving Chris no time to think about it.

The kid was good. So good, that it only took a few moments until Chris was sweating from the effort of keeping him back. His style was nice, intuitive and refreshing, not the same old moves most knights fell back on. He was quick and surprisingly strong, but Chris still had twenty years of extra experience - some of it straight from the battlefield - and it only took one tiny mistake for him to send the boy sprawling with a well aimed kick to the knee.

“Do you yie-” he couldn’t finish the question, because the knight’s shirt opened as he lay there on the ground, revealing a dark purple lovebite right over his collarbone.

Chris was intimately familiar with marks like that, because he had them all the time - that being the spot that Peter just loved to pay attention to. It made him see red. This… This little maggot was the one his husband was fucking yesterday.

He pushed the tip of the sword against the boy’s vulnerable neck, right where it connected to his head. He wished he picked a real one, that had enough of an edge to cut.

“ _ You _ .”

The knight closed his eyes, face pale, and that was enough of an admission to turn Chris’ rage into cold fury.

He needed a blade with an edge.

It was almost easy to yank the boy up by his shirt, the fabric ripping from the force and marching him back inside. There were enough weapons in there to satisfy Chris’ vengeance. Hopefully.

Except that the second they were by the rack with everything sharp he desired, the door to the armoury slammed open, revealing a very haphazardly dressed king.

“Fuck,” the boy said with feeling.

Peter was pale, hair almost as unruly as it had been yesterday in that damned closet.

“Christopher.”

***

“Don’t  _ Christopher  _ me,” he growled out, pushing the young knight to the floor. He went to his knees easily, the fight having left him the second his little secret was up.

Peter closed the door, leaning against the wood with a heavy thud. 

“Chris,” he sounded defeated. It wasn’t something he liked to hear, but for once, he didn’t care.

“We can talk, but first, I’m going to kill this cheap, upstart little whore,” he said, not even looking at Peter. The boy gave a small moan, but didn’t move.

“You can’t just kill him,” Peter said, making Chris scoff.

“Execute him, then. I’m pretty sure there’s a law somewhere for exactly this situation. You’ve clearly forgotten, but I’m second only to you, and I swear to the gods, if you try to stop me, I will…” he didn’t even know what. He couldn’t say they would be over, he didn’t think that would be possible. 

“I was drunk, it didn’t mean anything,” Peter told him. The young knight flinched like he’d been hit, but it was little consolation. Soulmates shouldn’t start fucking around just from a bit of alcohol, it didn’t work like that. 

Chris’ mark was itching. He picked a sword from the shelf, weighting it in his hand. Good enough.

He stepped in front of the boy. He wasn’t even pale, face looking almost grey. His eyes were closed and for some reason Chris couldn’t stop thinking that he kind of understood the appeal. But he couldn’t let this slide.

“It felt right,” Peter said, voice rough, making Chris’ hand still.

That… that hurt.

Sure, they were never perfect, they always had friction that other soulmates didn’t seem to have, but hearing that was like a stab to the heart.

“Fuck you,” he said, low and a bit shaky, he yanked the rest of the knight’s shirt out of the way. He wanted a clear cut. It wasn’t his first beheading.

Peter sucked in a sharp breath as he lifted the sword and before he could swing the king was behind him, grabbing his wrist in an iron hold.

Chris rounded on him, feeling humiliated.

“No! You can’t take this away from me-”

Peter wasn’t looking at him, his face almost as pale as the boy’s was, eyes glued to the knight’s chest. Chris had no idea what was happening, but he followed his husband’s gaze, fury momentarily forgotten.

The sword fell out of his hand.

“That can’t be possible.”

***

They waited in their bedroom, Peter sitting on the window nook, staring out onto the courtyard while Chris paced.

Mind boggling, is what it was.

“This doesn’t excuse what you did.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t…”

“It had been dark.”

“Maybe it’s a trick. He could be a spy.”

Peter huffed. Chris knew him well enough to see how shaken he was. Both of them were.

Sir Stiles shared their soulmark. That shouldn’t have been possible.

Chris wouldn’t have believed it if he haven’t seen it with his own eyes; a stylized, snarling wolf head holding two swords in its mouth. That was their mark, the one he traced countless times on the small of Peter’s back, the one that had been on his chest since the day he’d been born.

Still. It was impossible.

There was a knock on the door, but true to form, Deaton didn’t wait for their permission to enter. He might have been the best physician in the country but he had weird notions about manners.

Peter stood, coming to stand beside Chris. He did appreciate the support, but he still wasn’t sure he forgave his husband.

“So?” he asked, before the king could even open his mouth. Normally he would never be so rude, but this was anything but normal.

“The mark is not fake,” the doctor said. Chris didn’t know what to do with that. It made no sense.

“Are you sure? Absolutely?”

The man nodded, unfazed by the scrutiny of the royal couple.

“There’s no sign of tampering, and he has no other mark.”

Chris took a step back, sitting down heavily at the edge of the bed.

“How is this possible?” Peter asked, voice hard. He’d been awfully quiet since the discovery, but he still sounded like a king. Chris envied his composure.

Deaton shrugged.

“It’s rare, but not unheard of. Almost one in ten soulbonds are between three or four people where my ancestors are from.,” he said, like this wasn’t a big deal at all.

“Well, that’s not the case around here,” Chris bit out.

“I suppose, your grace, but the fact remains.”

He just. Couldn’t comprehend this. His head hurt, and his damned mark kept  _ itching _ .

“Is there any other proof?” Peter asked, making Deaton raise an eyebrow. 

“He was born on the day of your bonding ceremony, your majesty,” he said finally, and that. That really sealed the deal. Soulmates often shared a birthday - like him and Peter - or were born on significant dates of the other’s life. Chris’ mother was born the day his paternal grandmother died, when his father was four.

Peter rubbed a hand over his face.

“So, you are saying…”

“I’m saying,” Deaton told them with a meaningful look, “that the fates might have thought that your bonding needed a little amendment.”

***

The hallway was quiet and deserted as they walked towards their destination. The festivities from the day before were long over and the mood in the castle plummeted along with its rulers’.

They didn’t talk. Haven’t really said a word since Deaton left them alone, but when Peter finally walked out the door, Chris was right beside him, knowing exactly where they were headed.

The boy was locked in one of the guest rooms. Probably nicer than the one he originally stayed in, though it still left a bitter aftertaste in Chris’ mouth.

There were guards poised by the door, and Peter stopped short when they got close enough to see the state they were in.

The one on the right side had an enormous black eye, and the other one had white gauze stuffed into his nose, soaking with blood.

They still stood up straight when the royal couple approached.

“What the hell happened here?” Peter asked. It was a good question. The palace guard should be above petty fights with each other.

“Your majesty, we… we’ve assisted Dr. Deaton,” one of the men said, eyes cutting towards the door.

Now that had Peter looking thundurus. 

“Is our m… our guest injured?”

Chris could feel his blood run cold at the suggestion.

“No, your majesty,” the guard assured them immediately, the other one shaking his head with a pained expression.

Peter looked at Chris, puzzled, but he just shrugged. They would find out what happened anyway.

Peter was the one to walk in first, but almost immediately stalled, forcing Chris to have to round him.

It became obvious why in a second.

The young knight stood as they entered, still pale, but with his face unreadable. His hair - that had looked soft and lush this morning - had been cut in a rather crude, uneven fashion. There was a small, clean cut above one of his eyebrows, probably from a slipped scissor.

Chris felt unreasonable anger at the sight until he realized that they ordered the doctor to check the boy thoroughly for marks, which included his scalp too.

Fuck.

“Sir Stiles,” Peter said. His voice was strange, but for once Chris didn’t blame him.

“Your majesty, your grace,” the knight said blandly, bowing. There were strands of hair that hadn’t been cut as close to his head that were sticking out, and it made him look… miserable.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” Chris told him, knowing that Peter - as king - was expected to spare the apologies.

“Thank you, your grace, though there’s really no need to waste apologies on such cheap upstarts like myself,” he said smoothly, making Chris - almost - flinch.

They fucked up good.

“Nonetheless, we do apologize,” Peter said. Chris only heard him asking for forgiveness a handful of times over the years, the words sounded unfamiliar.

Stiles was looking at them with the same blank face, stance straight but casual. For some reason - although he had no time to get to know him - Chris was uncomfortable with his stillness.

Peter closed the door. This conversation wasn’t for outside ears.

“Sir Stiles, we have some delicate matters to discuss,” he said, turning around and motioning for the little table by the wall. Chris sat down after him, but the knight remained stubbornly standing.

“It would be unseemly of me to sit in the king’s presence,” he said, which was technically true, but still infuriatingly cold.

Peter’s jaw twitched, but he nodded.

“As you wish. Have you been told why you are here?” 

Doctor Deaton wasn’t exactly gossipy, but it never hurt to ask.

The knight looked between them before answering.

“I haven’t, but I have a very good guess, considering what your physician did to me.”

It was only thanks to decades of diplomatic practice that Chris didn’t wince at the reminder. There was no doubt in his mind that it had been a humiliating experience.

“Very well,” Peter said, eyes calculating. He was probably starting to realize that this wouldn’t be simple. “And what is your stance on the matter?”

This was going wrong, Chris could feel it in his bones. This wasn’t how they were supposed to do this. His mark kept itching and burning. Everything was wrong, but they were too out of their depth to know how to handle it.

“I would very much wish to return home and never speak of it again,” Stiles said without hesitation. Peter’s grip turned white on the armrest. 

So, so wrong.

The king stood, tension in every line in his body, and Chris couldn’t do anything but follow suit.

“Your wish is denied,” he said with finality before striding out, pulling a stunted Chris across the room and banging the door shut behind them.

***

Chris went to sleep alone again that day. He couldn’t remember the last time they went for so long without each other - even if they were fighting, the sex was always there to bridge the gaps - but it was different.

Yeah, having a third mate was completely unexpected, but it didn’t mean that he forgot what Peter did. It might have been an explanation, but not an excuse.

And Peter treated the whole situation abysmally. They shouted at each other until their throats were hoarse, and then Chris left, bunking up in his separate, private chambers. It would do good for Peter to be left alone to think about his mistakes, but…

It didn’t make his mark hurt any less.

***

Breakfast was a miserable affair, especially now that they were aware that there should be a third place set. He couldn’t speak for Peter, but Chris felt like his eyes were finally opened, the hole in their life that had been there all along becoming painfully obvious.

They couldn’t let things end like this.

“What should we do with him?” he asked when the silence stretched painfully long.

Peter sighed. Chris suddenly missed the mischievous young man with the razor sharp wit and the scathing remarks he fell in love with. For some reason he was sure that Stiles would have loved that Peter too.

But that had been twenty years ago, before two decades of running a kingdom tired them both out. He wondered who the young man Peter fell in love with had been, because it didn’t feel like it was him.

Before he could get a reply there was a knock on the door, a rather worn looking guard limping inside at their call.

“What is it?” Peter asked, taking a sip of his tea.

“Your majesty, I’m awfully sorry to disturb you,” he said. There was a dent on his armour. “That little... I mean, the guest in the north wing has tried to scale the walls.”

Peter choked on his drink, and Chris wasn’t too far behind, feeling his eyes widen.

***

Their soulmate - and really, Chris had no idea when he started thinking about him like that - was apparently an escape artist. Peter thought it would be good to give him a bit of time to cool down, but during the day he’d committed three separate escape attempts, broke a door and three guards.

It was amazing, really. Chris envied his vigor and started to grow a healthy respect for his stubbornness.

The afternoon was mostly quiet, probably thanks to the fact that Chris ordered the royal barber to pay a visit to the boy and try to salvage his pitiful hair situation.

Peter was holding court, not even taking a break for lunch and leaving Chris mostly to his own devices. He thought about going to Stiles, but stopped himself. It wouldn’t have been good to do it alone, not after what happened between them.

The first note came a bit after noon, carried by a page.

_ I’m incredibly bored.  _ It said, in Peter’s elegant handwriting. 

Chris could remember them doing this when they were kids, he didn’t know what to with it. 

_ Good _ . He wrote back, sending the boy waiting in the door on his way.

It only took a few moments for the page to be back, slightly out of breath. The throne room was in the other end of the castle. Chris raised an eyebrow.

_ Why must you be so mean? _

He sighed, but couldn’t help feeling a bit of fondness.

_ The last time you tried to entertain yourself we ended up with a third soulmate so pardon me if I would rather have you bored than starting a harem. _

There. That should do it. It… it actually felt good to write it down, there had been so much left unsaid between them lately.

He thought he would finally be left to his books for the rest of the day, but he was proven wrong when the boy appeared in his door again, brow shining with sweat. The page handed the letter over without so much as a bow, but Chris forgave him. 

_ Point. I know it means little, but I don’t know what came over me. I was drunk, and when I looked at him… Do you remember when we first met? _

Chris closed his eyes. Of course. Of course he did. It was unfair of Peter to bring it up. But, the letter wasn’t over yet.

_ It was almost like that. But, I still hurt you and for that… For that I am sorry, Christopher _ .

Maybe it made no sense, but seeing those words in Peter’s own hand, written down crisp and clear, meant something to him, as did the little ‘ _ I love you _ ’ tucked to the end.

He paused before touching his quill to the paper, but the words came easily enough - it was the truth after all.

_ And I love you too. Alas, we still have a lot to worry about, as our future husband seems set on slipping away. I worry that he will either kill himself in his recklessness or cripple half the royal guard. _

The page took a deep breath before heading back to where he came from. Chris felt kind of sorry for him.

This time he had to wait a bit more for the reply, just as well, Peter should have been busy. 

There was thinly veiled murder in the boy’s eyes as he handed the next note over.

_ I’m afraid I royally fucked up that one. _

Chris snorted. Now that was true. But he refused to believe the situation was unsalvageable.

_ Then you should cut court short and we could figure something out. _

He already had an idea forming. If he’d learned something in his years in diplomacy, it was the importance of first impressions.

The page was barely standing by the time he delivered Peter’s reply.

_ I’m the king, you can’t tell me what to do. On an unrelated note, I have decided to dismiss court early. _

Chris smiled, for the first time in the last days feeling optimistic. 

_ Come to the armoury _ . He wrote simply.

“It’s the last one,” he told the page.

***

Chris was there first, examining the swords when the guards led Stiles in. The boy looked better, his hair had been finally cut evenly, shorn close to his head. It made him seem even younger than he was, but it still suited him.

“Sir Stiles,” he said, greeting the knight with a slight bow. He could see that the boy was shocked by the gesture, as there were very few people the king consort had to tip his head to.

“Your grace.”

“The two of you may go,” he told the guards, who - though dubious - weren’t suicidal enough to contradict Chris. Just as well.

Stiles waited until they left before opening his mouth again.

“You know, there’s no need to make it look like an accident,” he said, eyes sharp. “Other than the three of us and the physician, nobody knows why I’m being held captive.”

Chris grinned.

“You think I want to kill you?”

Stiles nodded, but he didn’t seem so sure anymore.

Chris hummed, picking a practice sword and throwing it to the boy. The knight fumbled, but managed to keep hold of it. Good.

“I will tell you a secret, sir. The king is an extremely sore loser.”

Stiles made a sound that was between a choke and a laugh. Chris felt something warm in his chest knowing that he could startle such a noise out of him.

“Oh, he keeps fit, as you might already know,” he added, glancing at Stiles who turned red at the reminder. “But he doesn’t spar with me. I’m better, and when I win he keeps pouting for days on end.”

“I- what?”

“And,” Chris continued, picking a blunt sword for himself, “Everyone else lets me win most of the time. I haven’t had a good fight since the border wars - where your father gained his title for his service, if I remember right.”

The boy nodded. He still looked a bit suspicious, but there was a kind of confidence in his body now that he was holding a weapon that made Chris trust his plan.

“So, what do you want from me, your grace?”

“I think that this is the perfect opportunity for me to finally spar with someone who is my equal in every way,” he said, turning around and walking out to the training yard.

***

Chris could feel his blood singing in his veins; there was sweat dripping down his nose and every single muscle in his body was hurting from overuse.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so alive.

Stiles was amazing, even better than he hoped now that he wasn’t tied down by the compulsory respect for his liege. Sure, part of it might have been anger, but Chris was still happy that the knight accepted them as equals.

Stiles was fast, but his wits were even quicker, learning Chris’ every trick after falling for it once and using them against him almost immediately.

If not for his wast experience, Chris would have lost long ago.

At least the boy looked to be at the end of his rope too. He started out too strong and worn himself down; they would have to work on his pacing in the future.

“Ready to yield?” Chris asked him with a grin. It wasn’t the first time in the last few minutes, and it always worked, riling Stiles up even more.

The young knight practically snarled as he lunged himself on Chris, just like he expected, and well. It was time to round things up.

He used the same, sneaky little kick to the knee as the first time, sending his opponent to the ground with a loud thud. Stiles lay there for a moment, panting heavily as the breath was knocked out of him.

This time, Chris didn’t put his blade to his throat, offering his hand instead.

“Oldest trick in the book,” he said wryly, secretly grateful that it was over. He was getting damned old.

Stiles blinked, accepting the offered hand, but when he yanked Chris down instead of standing it caught him completely off guard. It only took a roll to get him under Stiles, who ended up straddling his waist with a cheeky grin of his own.

“And here I thought this was the oldest trick in the book.”

The sight of him - loose limbed and flushed and so full of life - stole Chris’ breath away. Yeah, yeah, he knew this feeling. They looked at each other for a long, charged moment and then Stiles moved, planting his hand on Chris’ chest. Right over his mark.

Stiles jerked like he’d been shocked, but Chris snagged his wrist before he could yank his hand away.

They were both panting, and it wasn’t about the fight anymore. 

“I…”

“Whatever you want,” Chris told him quietly, gentling his hold and caressing the thin skin of Stiles’ hand with his thumb. The boy shivered, eyes falling shut, and when he opened them, they were alight with determination.

When Stiles kissed him, it was like nothing he ever experienced. Yes, Peter had fire and passion in spades, but there was a sort of eagerness in the connection of their lips that a king rarely allowed himself to show.

Chris couldn’t help his other hand from wandering, finding the slope of Stiles’ hip and holding on, squeezing down until the young knight moaned into his mouth, sweet and hot and everything Chris wanted.

Maybe they would have kept at it for hours, but somebody cleared his throat, making Stiles break away from him with a gasp.

It was Peter, because of course it was Peter.

Chris could see him instinctively wanting to make a comment about how much a bitch payback was, but he reigned himself in in the last second. Good. Chris might have had to kill him if he ruined the moment.

“I see you’ve worked out your differences…” he said instead. Stiles was tense, looking at him with narrow eyes, but Chris was still holding onto his wrist, trying to offer whatever comfort he could.

“Your majesty,” the boy said. He sounded aloof, but was fooling nobody.

“Do you require to beat me with a toy sword too, or would an honest apology save me some pain?” Peter asked him, leaning casually against the doorframe. For anyone else he might have looked relaxed, but Chris knew him better than that.

Stiles thought long and hard on his options.

“I would choose the first, but I’ve been told you are not exactly graceful in defeat, your majesty,” he said carefully, watching Peter’s reaction like a hawk. This was the moment of truth; everything hinged on what the king would say, and all of them knew it.

Peter raised an eyebrow, glancing at Chris with a quirk to his lips.

“Rude,” he said, pouting a bit  and the tension in Stiles’ posture lessened a fraction.

“Shut up and do it,” Chris told him. Peter didn’t like to be bossed around, but for once in his life he could bear it.

“Alright, alright,” he said, putting his hands up in defeat, walking over to them. He sat on the right by Chris’ hip and leaned down to give him a small kiss in greeting.

Stiles made a little sound in the back of his throat, and it had Peter’s lips pull into a smile against his.

Maybe he was stalling, or just chasing the traces of Stiles taste… it didn’t matter.

“Now,” Peter said, pulling back slowly and looking at Stiles, “Where were we?”

The boy swallowed, fingers spasming against Chris’ chest.

“Apology,” he said, voice rough.

“Ah, yes.”

Peter took a deep breath and reached out, palming the delicate arch of Stiles’ neck.

“I am sorry for what I have done, for inadvertently hurting you… and more than likely pressuring you into what happened at the feast.”

Stiles opened his mouth in protest, but Peter stopped him.

“No, let me finish. It might seem like it was unavoidable in light of our bond, but I do know that it’s impossible to say no to a king. And I should have remembered that.”

Stiles closed his mouth and nodded in acknowledgement. Chris squeezed his wrist.

“And I am sorry for acting like… like I did after we realized what was going on. I was scared, because you wanted to leave and it apparently turned me into a bastard… Will you accept my apology?”

Chris couldn’t deny that he was holding his breath while he waited for Stiles’ reply.

Their future hinged on this moment, and after everything, he wasn’t sure they would make it with Peter if the boy turned them down now.

Stiles closed his eyes for a moment before speaking.

“You know, this easy for me, okay?” he said, looking between them. “Most people are long bonded by the time they are my age… I thought there was something wrong with me.”

Peter looked affronted at the suggestion but kept his mouth shut - probably with great difficulty.

“And then…” Stiles had to stop to give a slightly hysterical chuckle, “And then all this shit happened and apparently  _ you  _ two are my soulmates. The fucking royal couple.”

Chris sighed. Sure, he had been a noble himself - a duke - but could still remember the shock of finding out about who his other half was.

“It’s okay, we will help, if we have anything to offer it’s our experience in handling whatever comes our way” he promised. Stiles gave him an uncertain little grin.

“Okay.”

***

Chris haven’t slept in their room for the last two nights, but he was happy to note that everything was where it was supposed to be, otherwise they might have had a bit of a problem navigating the furniture with the way they couldn’t stop kissing each-other.

Stiles was the first one out of his clothes, thanks to both him and Peter being adamant about getting him naked. The boy was -  _ their  _ boy was - beautiful. He could already see a few bruises forming from their fight, and he couldn’t help imagining all the marks that would be left after what they were going to do now.

“Fuck… y-you too,” Stiles panted out, clawing at Peter’s clothed chest while trying to pull Chris closer.

“Your wish is my command,” Peter told him, grinning from ear to ear. He was quick to lose his clothes and Chris followed suite.

When their naked bodies finally met in one single mess of limbs and sweat and moans on the bed, it felt like arriving at a longed for destination. They were headed for this moment all their lives. 

Chris had no idea when he became such a sap, but thankfully Peter was quick to get his head back to the present.

“Get the oil for me,” he said, lifting his head for just a second from where he was biting at Stiles’ neck.

Chris didn’t waste any more time, getting the small vial from their bedside table. It was the best the kingdom could offer. 

Peter grinned when he heard the familiar sound of the cork being pulled out and held his hand out.

“Take over for me, would you?”

Chris raised an eyebrow, not like he was opposed to the idea.

“Please,” Peter and Stiles said at the same time, though with very, very different tones.

Oh, he couldn’t say no to that.

He lay down along Stiles, leaning over him and giving him a kiss that took both of their breaths away while Peter shimmied down, parting the boy’s legs.

Chris knew immediately when Peter started something, because Stiles moaned, head thrown back. He glanced down, and sure enough, the king was busy with the boy’s cock in his mouth and his hand pumping as he opened him up.

He actually had to put an arm over Stiles’ chest to stop him from bucking Peter off.

“S-shit, stop… I’m gonna…” the boy said, grasping at anything he could reach. 

Chris had to smile, loving the way he sounded so flustered and close to coming.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he told him, licking up his neck and nipping at the lobe of his ear. “He’s just taking the edge off to make sure you can fuck me long and hard.”

Stiles gave a defeated moan, body sizing up and coming just like that, shivering as Peter hummed around his cock in pleasure.

They gentled him down, turning him to his side so Peter could spoon him from back and keep fingering him while Chris traded soft kisses with Stiles.

“You haven’t even…” the boy murmured, but Chris didn’t let him finish.

“We are old men, darling, we will keep until you’re ready again.”

***

And ready again he was. Chris was almost envious of his refractory period, but had no time to such petty things when Stiles was pushing into him, slow and careful, like he was afraid of hurting him.

“I’m already prepped, and this isn’t my first time - I’m not going to break,” he said, trying to lock his ankles behind the boy’s back to pull him in, but Stiles wasn’t having any of it.

“Shut up and just let me…” he replied, voice choking as his head finally sank inside. When he opened his eyes again, he looked at Chris with something close to wonder.

“It… it might not be your first time, but it is for me,” he admitted, making Chris freeze. It didn’t last long though, because the next second he was cupping the boy’s face and pulling him down for a kiss.

“Really?” He couldn’t stop asking, not like there was anything wrong with that, but he had a hard time imagining someone as goodlooking as Stiles could have stayed untouched like this for so long.

Stiles huffed out a little laugh that ended on a moan when Peter - kneeling behind him - started to pepper kisses down his spine.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve been with women, and with men… but haven’t done this particular… act before,” he said, already flushed face turning an even darker shade of pink. Chris loved the color on him.

The admission made Peter pause too.

“If you would like to savor the moment I can wait my turn,” he said, putting his hands on Stiles hips and guiding him forward into Chris’ hole until both him and the boy were moaning at the heavenly friction.

It took a few moments for Stiles to get his breath back after he finally bottomed out.

“Ah… I. No, no, I want you too,” he said, pulling back slow and careful, eyes closed in bliss.

Chris could see Peter’s grin over the boy’s shoulder, oh, he knew that look.

“Very well. I will guide you through it then.”

Chris pulled Stiles down and back inside him and kissed him long and deep, putting his arms around his back to keep him still. Peter might have already prepared the boy, but a bit of distraction couldn’t hurt.

Stiles tensed up a bit when Peter entered him, not awfully so, but the king still tutted, smoothing his palms up and down the boy’s spine to ease his discomfort.

“Almost there,” Chris whispered into Stiles’ ear, moaning when the boy shivered, nestling his cock deeper into Chris’ ass.

They all stopped and just breathed for a moment when Peter was finally all in, the three of them engulfed in each-other’s bodies. Chris could feel his mark burn - it wasn’t painful, it was their destiny finally sealing shut and binding them all together.

“Can we move?” Stiles asked strained, breaking the silence and making Peter chuckle.

“Of course we can, darling. I’m going to help you with this, alright?”

Stiles nodded, rubbing his face against Chris’ neck before straightening up, letting Peter’s hands on his hips guide him.

The king pulled them both back, plastered against Stiles from behind until there was just the tip of the boy’s cock in Chris.

“Good, now all you need is fuck him nice and easy,” he said, pushing him forward. From the look on his face, Stiles had to be overwhelmed by the feeling of Peter’s cock sliding out of him as he moved. Chris could understand, he was intimately familiar with that sensation.

They let the boy set the pace, moving between them, fucking into Chris and then back onto Peter’s cock.

It was glorious, but - as they should have seen it coming - it didn’t last long. Stiles quickly succumbed to the doubled pleasure, even with Peter taking care of him beforehand.

It was alright, though.

Chris hugged his prone body close when Stiles came, rutting against his belly while Peter continued to fuck him, letting the boy ride out the pleasure while he chased his own.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling so content with his life.

***

Harris - their manservant - was the one who woke them. Well, he woke Peter and Chris, since they were already used to being roused early. Stiles was sleeping like a log between them.

“Your majesty, your grace,” Harris said, not even looking over as he put their breakfast on the table. The man froze the second he turned around and discovered the unusual addition to their bed.

“Y-your majesty!” he said, sounding way too scandalized for an underling.

Peter shushed him, giving a quick kiss to Chris before trying to get out of bed.

“We will talk about this later, Harris. I will need to talk to the magister… I think we should have another feast… and of course, a second wedding.”

Harris looked like he was about to fall over from shock.

“Your majesty!”

Peter frowned, but before he could open his mouth Stiles moved, hugging his waist close and snuffing against his naked hip.

“Mine… my majesty…” he mumbled, still half asleep. 

Chris could barely contain his laughter, feeling happy and light for the first time in a long while.

“Yes, yes,” Peter told their boy quietly, carefully extracting himself and turning Stiles towards Chris. He didn’t need any more incentive and wrapped his long limbs around him, clinging like an octopus.

“Don’t worry,  _ his grace _ will still keep you company,” Peter said, winking at Chris.

Stiles huffed out a breath, eyes still closed.

“Mmm… my grace.”

Chris kissed his forehead, smiling at Peter.

“As you say.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


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